


Somehow Highly Likable

by herbailiwick



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, St. Bart's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While joining Douglas on a tour of St. Bart's, Martin meets a very special woman.</p><p>Rated PG.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somehow Highly Likable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmcross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmcross/gifts).



"You," Douglas said, "look terrible."

Martin swallowed dryly. "What? No, no, I'm fine!" he protested. He frowned when Douglas raised an eyebrow at that. 

"You've been staring at the logbook for much too long, and your eyes are mysteriously teary."

"Mysteriously...! No, they're not!" Martin said so forcefully a tear escaped and made its way down his cheek. 

"My mistake," Douglas drawled. "Might I offer sir a hanky?" He pulled out a handkerchief and held it out, waiting even when Martin tried to ignore its presence.

Finally, Martin snatched it, dabbing at his eyes. "It's my mother," he blurted out.

"No," Douglas said. "It's just a handkerchief," hoping it would prompt Martin to tell more.

Martin gripped the white cloth between both hands, frowning. "You know what I...I mean," he said. 

"Apologies," replied Douglas calmly.

"W-well, she's had a bit of a cancer scare. A quick surgery should do the trick, but...but...."

"But 'should' and 'cancer' don't go well together at all," Douglas supplied. He reached out, putting a hand over one of Martin's clenched ones. "A hospital's probably the last place you'll want to be, but tomorrow an old friend is giving me a tour of St. Bart's. He wouldn't mind if you came along, and you should clearly not be alone this weekend."

"No! I-I couldn't!" Martin protested, managing to twist at the hanky even more, pulling away from Douglas's touch and looking away. "She, she survived cancer once before. If it weren't for the bills, we would have been better off," he admitted. "We thought she'd beaten it," Martin said sadly, more tears looking as if they were bound to make their way down his freckled cheeks too. "Mum beats everything," he said, looking up at Douglas suddenly, eyes heavy with his sadness. "She never loses, Douglas. B-but... _cancer_ ," he said, the last word raspy and nearly lost.

"Martin, you've got to come spend some time with me. After all, you're my friend," Douglas said assuringly. "Furthermore, up."

"Hm?"

"Get up," Douglas said, standing as well. Martin got unsteadily and suspiciously to his feet, not expecting Douglas to wrap his arms around him tightly. 

Shakily, he let go of the hanky with one hand, tentatively returning the embrace. "Y-You don't need to feel o-ob—," he said, and Douglas cut him off with a stern shake of his head.

"I assure you, Martin, that the last thing I feel toward you is any cold sense of obligation. You really are my friend, my best friend in fact," he said. "And you're coming with me tomorrow to St. Bart's. I'll come pick you up and distract you from all this worry."

Martin sighed heavily.

"If you go with me, lunch will be my treat."

Martin couldn't help his body betraying him by displaying a slight hint of interest at that.

Douglas pulled back slightly, large hands on Martin's slight shoulders. "You'll like Mike," he stated with a small smile. "He's very kind, and gets along with nearly everyone."

"Where do you know him from?" Martin asked reaching up to dab at his face some more. 

"Medical school. He teaches now," he said. "And I hear that the students think he's smashing."

Well, if he was a teacher, and not the mean sort, maybe he'd be alright. Martin sighed. "Okay, Douglas," he said, holding the hanky up near his face and wondering for a moment whether or not he should blow his nose. 

Douglas sighed, yanking the hanky from his hand, holding it to his face. "Blow," he said, and Martin laughed a choking little laugh before complying once, then taking it from Douglas's hand to repeat the process.

"Keep it," Douglas said. "I daresay you could use it, right now. Don't hesitate to keep me updated on the state of your mother, alright?"

Martin nodded quickly. "Yes," he said in a crying-choked voice. "Yes, I'll do that."

"Can I come bother you at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow morning?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." 

"Then," Martin said dryly, "you'll find that you can."

Douglas squeezed Martin's shoulders. "Let me finish the last couple logs."

"Douglas," Martin said warningly.

"I'm very serious about the whole best friend thing. You get going while you still can, Captain, because I'll be knocking at your door bright and early."

Martin frowned, almost said something, and settled for shaking his head slightly. He wadded up the hanky into his hand and made his way out the door and back to his old van, wishing his father was still around, but glad at least he had Douglas.

***

He found himself waiting in anticipation for more than an hour before Douglas finally arrived, right at nine and with a coffee in his hand. Martin assumed it was Douglas's own until he held it out toward Martin a bit more. "For you, Martin," Douglas said.

"A-A-Are you sure? For me?!" Martin squeaked. "You're already doing so much," he said with a faint hint of panic, actually taking a step back.

"Martin," Douglas said firmly. "I'm actually going to enjoy having someone around this weekend too. I'm still fresh from a divorce, if you'll recall. It's rude not to accept a gift, especially when it's something so insignificant as a _coffee_."

"W-well," Martin said weakly, tentatively reaching out for it, "it _does_ smell good."

Douglas smiled. "Let's get in the car, then. I hope you don't mind opera."

***

"Douglas!" a fat man with glasses and bright blue eyes said, embracing Douglas in a hug of familiarity. "You still look great."

"As do you, Mike!" Douglas praised. "Still on the first Mrs Stamford?"

"Yes! And a lucky man I am."

"And little Stamfords too?"

"Two boys." Mike turned to Martin. "Hello! Douglas said you'd be joining us."

Martin nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, I'm Martin Crieff," he said, offering his hand, which Mike shook warmly and firmly. "I-I'm just along for the ride," he said with a nervous laugh.

"And you're old Douglas's captain, I take it?"

Douglas looked sour. "What would make you think he's the captain?" he said. "Or that I'm old?"

Martin allowed himself a bit of a smile. "Why yes," he said. "I'm Captain Martin Crieff. How did you know?"

"The science of deduction. Long story," Mike said, then turned to Douglas. "How's Helena?"

"Gone," Douglas sighed heavily. "It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?" 

The silence was so uncomfortable that Martin cautiously lifted a hand up to rest on Douglas's arm, staring at the hand in action as if offering physical comfort was a huge risk to take. "N-not to oversimplify, Douglas, but...you gave her brown sauce, and she may as well have poured it all out in favor if _Tai Chi_ ," he said the last with disgust.

Mike stared at them for a moment. "What's all this?"

Martin jerked his hand away. "Sorry. Look, I don't know what to say."

"You did fine, actually," Douglas said. "Thank you, Martin." He looked over at Mike. "Helena had quite a fondness for her Tai Chi instructor, but we were never completely honest about...well... _anything_. She told me about it when I came clean about the fact I'd been playing the part of a captain. To my _own wife_." He looked a bit miserable. 

"Very sorry to hear that, Douglas," Mike said. "But I'm glad you've got yourself a friend like Martin."

Douglas nodded, eyeing Martin. "I am too." 

Mike and Douglas stared at Martin until he flushed. "W-weren't we going to have a tour?" he asked quietly. 

***

"This is a friend of mine, Molly Hooper, who works here in the morgue."

Douglas shook her hand. "Very pleased to meet you," he said winningly. "As a pilot, I do admire a woman with a strong stomach."

Molly laughed softly, her large brown eyes shining. "I couldn't have been anything else," she said, looking about her work space. "It's all I've ever wanted to do. Isn't that a bit sad?"

"At least you're doing it," Martin said automatically. She turned her gaze to him then, and he was lost.

"Hi," she said, quickly offering her hand. "I'm Molly Hooper."

"And," he said, grasping at her hand a bit too tightly, "I'm Martin Crieff. I'm a pilot a-as well. And I like strong stomachs. I-I mean. I like yours. No! No." He bit at his lip, a bit furious with himself.

"He's the captain. I'm the first officer," Douglas said with a hint of amusement as Martin seemed to fluster and grow red again.

"I...I've never been on a plane," Molly admitted, a bit embarrassed too. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be!" Martin said. "I mean, I-I _am_ sorry for you, simply because planes are...," he breathed, "wonderful."

"It's all he ever wanted to do," Douglas supplied.

Molly's eyes lit up. "You too, then."

"Me too what?" Martin asked, still awkwardly shaking her hand.

"We're both doing what we've always dreamed of!"

Martin blinked. "I...I guess we are."

"You can stop shaking her hand, Martin," Douglas said, and Martin jerked his hand away, wiping it on his pants leg as it had become a bit sweaty.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said.

Molly giggled nervously, but sweetly too.

"I'm sorry," Martin said, swallowing. "So you like...you like dead things?"

"I don't like that they're dead. I mean, I mean, I like things to be alive," Molly said quickly. "But I...I like my job."

Martin ran a hand through his hair.

"I could show you a body," Molly offered. "Um, only if you wanted to see. Not supposed to, b-but...."

Martin shook his head. 

"He's actually had death on the brain, Molly," Douglas said. "We're here so he won't dwell."

"Oh!"

"We were about to go to lunch, after this. Mike, Molly, would the two of you mind joining us? My treat."

"Oh!" Molly said again, looking stunned. She took a moment to collect herself before saying, "Of course! Thank you! Sorry, I never...I'm sorry, yes!"

"Well then you should more often," Douglas said. "Starting now."

"Let me wash my hands and hang up this coat!" Molly enthused. "Though I can't say it'll be an improvement," she joked, heading to a back room, the door closing shut behind her.

"Miss Hooper isn't seeing anyone, is she?"

"No. She's obsessed with a friend of ours. Actually, Martin resembles this friend, in appearance if not in personality. Or height. Sorry, Martin."

"Ah. Maybe that's enough, then."

"E-Enough for what?!" Martin demanded.

"Enough for her to like you, Martin," Douglas said slowly.

"...Oh." 

"Exactly. She looks to be socially awkward, single-minded, and unpopular but still somehow highly likable—in effect, the female version of you. So I'd say you have a shot."

"Last man she dated ended up being a criminal mastermind who blew an old woman up," Mike said helpfully. "And the man she's in love with is what I'd call a prat, even if he's got some goodness underneath."

"So, you're saying I have a shot?"

"Sure," Douglas said. "Believe this man you barely know over your own first officer." But he was only teasing.

***

"You know...flying?"

"Er...yes, everything. Anything. What do you...? What's on your m-mind?"

"Just...what's it like?"

"Oh dear," Douglas said.

"It's wonderful...no, magnificent! Imagine the happiest you've been, but you feel it over your whole body, in waves, and you can't escape it."

"Like an orgasm?" Molly asked, and then slumped her shoulders. Douglas raised an eyebrow, and Martin gaped. "Sorry! Oh god, sorry."

"Um. Per-perhaps?" Marin squeaked. "Never...never associated the two before." He scratched at his hair awkwardly.

"Ignore me! I don't know what I'm talking about. This is so embarrassing. Just, just keep going," Molly said, sounding small.

"You...you wait in anticipation, and the engines come on, and you taxi like you're the only plane in the world, and, and takeoff happens and it's...it's the best feeling you've ever experienced," Martin said. "I mean, I've said that, but, you've never felt freer. Have you ever looked at the sky and just thought...I don't know," he said, getting a bit red. He swallowed, then burst out with, "Have you ever just wanted to leave everything behind? The world's so petty and unfair, and it's really nice to be...away from it."

Molly looked at Martin a bit sadly, nodding in understanding. Mike and Douglas stopped talking to watch the two with their full attention. "You're a survivor of...of life, Martin. Aren't you? Like...like I'm one too. Things happen, and you get through them and sometimes...," she swallowed hard. "Sometimes, it's nice to know you're categorizing someone's signs of decay and the size of their fatal wounds rather than the other way around."

His eyes widened. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's a bit like that."

"Would you," Molly swallowed, "w-would you like to go out for a coffee sometime?"

Martin, for a pointed moment, thought she might have meant Mike or Douglas. Then, he realized she didn't. "That would be brilliant," Martin said. "Y-you're brilliant."

Molly flushed a little. "You know, I've never been told that," she said honestly.

"You've never met our steward, then," Martin said, and Douglas chuckled.

"What?"

"Our steward," Douglas cut in. "'Brilliant' is his favorite adjective. Polar bears are brilliant. People are brilliant. Martin, who he prefers to call Skip, is brilliant."

"No doubt he'd say you were too," Martin said softly.

"And what's worse, our dear Arthur means it," Douglas said with a grin. "To him, almost everything really is just...brilliant."

"He sounds lovely!" Molly said. At the way Martin flinched slightly, she tilted her head. "Well, isn't he?"

"Well," Martin cleared his throat. "I suppose one could say he's...inspirational? He, er, he's...he's not the quickest, but, he's a good friend."

"He's as brilliant as he thinks everyone else is, in my estimation," Douglas said. "And in Martin's too. But Martin's worried that, since Arthur gets more dates than he does, you'd prefer him to Martin."

"Douglas," Martin said warningly, looking at Molly nervously. "M-Molly...."

"Martin's lack of confidence is his downfall. But with you to help him, dear Miss Hooper, I daresay he could really change for the better in that realm. Who knows," Douglas said, a bit smug at embarrassing both of them at once, "one day people might even assume he's the captain."

"Douglas!"

"I...I mean, I don't know you very well, of course. But you seem brilliant too," Molly said. "Maybe sometime...sometime you could...show me what flying's like?"

Martin gaped at her for so long that Douglas finally said, "Martin. Martin, the lady would like an answer."

"Oh! Yes, yes. Yes, I'd...yes. I'd...yes."

"You've broken him," Douglas said. "He's never had a beautiful girl ask him that before."

"Shut up, Douglas," said a very red Martin.

Molly smiled sweetly. "I've never had a handsome man stutter over me. So I guess we're even."

"Oh, he stutters over most things. But not usually this much," Douglas said.

"Shut up, Douglas," Martin said again, more quietly. 

"Imagine what our kids'd sound like, then," Molly said, and then her eyes widened. 

Martin laughed nervously. 

Molly laughed nervously. "I should just never say anything. Conversation isn't 'my area'," she said. "I'm sorry, I'll go...go powder my nose, shall I?" She looked about ready to die. 

"Okay," Martin said. "But, but don't feel bad. You're...you're very nice. And, I mean, obviously lovely. Anyway...you could say just about anything and I'd still...I'd still want coffee. No, not want, I'd crave getting a coffee with you. I'd spend all my spending money on you, and, and there isn't much of it."

Molly smiled softly, then a bit more. "He'd...my friend who tells me I should just shut up, I mean...he'd say you shouldn't talk either, but...you made me feel better, and that's something. Maybe we're not so hopeless."

"No," Martin said with surprise. "No, maybe we're not."

***

Molly was a wonderful listener. She listened about his mum, and celebrated with him when the cancer seemed to be gone. She let Martin talk about planes, about work, about the simulator. She even tried out the simulator and squealed and laughed and looked so lovely as she tried to figure it out that he stole a kiss.

"S...sorry," he said, still half across her as he looked into her startled eyes.

And she grasped his face under his chin, and pulled his face close for another kiss. She pressed for more, and her tongue was wet and warm and her lips tasted of red lipstick when he bit gently. His nose bumped her cheek as he pulled away to gaze at her.

"You're lovely," he said. "God, Molly. You're just lovely. And, and, you let me talk about planes, and you don't mind."

"Well, Martin," Molly pointed out a bit breathlessly, "you let me talk about dead things."

"You light up! Why wouldn't I? You're...you're amazing," he said softly.

"You light up too," Molly pointed out.

Martin laughed. "Now all we need is a flight of the dead."

"A...what?" she asked.

"I don't know. I just made it up. A flight where everyone's dead. Actually. Actually, Molly, did I ever tell you about the time a passenger died on G-ERTI?"

Molly gave him another quick, intense kiss. "No," she said. "You didn't."

Martin smiled and started the story. He'd never exactly thought it was a suitable story to tell anyone before. But Molly wasn't just anyone, was she?


End file.
